


A Deep Well of Kindness

by AlexStone



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: A little bit comfort, Chess Chats, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, My longstanding desire to see good Rose Cotton fic is established, Polyamory Negotiations, Small implications of memory loss, Tavern Chats, a little bit hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone
Summary: Rosie Cotton knows something is wrong with Frodo. She invites him to the Green Dragon tavern, where they have a game of chess.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	A Deep Well of Kindness

The Green Dragon tavern is a small town inn. As you walk through the Bywater it is easy to mistake it for another hole in a hill. During the summer it is crowded with hobbits, jostling and drinking into the night. As the seasons change, and frost crunches beneath your feet, the Green Dragon seems smaller, yet a warm light still spills from it into the darkness.

Rosie Cotton is proud of the Green Dragon. She is proud of it in a way that fills her up, makes her stand a bit taller than her father, and her father’s father. She’s a proud girl, but she’s kind. On this day, just like every other day, she is cleaning the leftover remains of a good nights drinking. Beer and ale and nuts and baked vegetables and dirt from Farmer John’s boots and just a small amount of what Rosie hopes is saliva.

She scrubs and polishes and arranges. She places the tankards in a good order, handles facing outward. She stacks the chairs and mops the floor and empties the waste out back. Rosie enjoys this work. It has given her a sense of practiced routine and toned muscles in her forearms.

Rosie is content. The Green Dragon does not sparkle, not like those menfolk’s taverns in Bree. But it is hers, and she would not trade it for all the treasure in all the world.

Rosie approaches a table in the corner. This table is out of the way of the main thoroughfare of the tavern, but with easy sight-lines to observe the happenings. It is quiet enough to hear yourself think, but close enough to the hubbub to drown out any eavesdropping. Rosie smiles. Few other hobbits sit here. It is too secluded, but Rosie imagines another reason. She likes to think people feels what she feels. This is an important table. This is the table that they sit at, the four hobbits who go on adventures.

She unpacks a small checkered board and places pieces on it. This was Mr Baggins’ favourite game, and he taught the young master Frodo how to play it in these very seats. She remembers setting the board for them when she was too young to work behind the bar. Elven lords and ladies in the middle of the back row. Oliphants next, followed by the rangers on horseback. Castle forts on the end. All the soldiers in the front.

She sits and maps the room with her eyes. A few minutes pass before she stands and walks to the front door. She smiles as she opens the door and sees a hobbit stood outside, hand raised in an expectant knock.

“Good evening, master Frodo,” Rosie smiles, “Please come in.”

Frodo Baggins narrowed his eyes. How had she known he was there? Stepping into the Green Dragon, a wave of emotions came over him. He remembered escorting Pippin home, who had been far too young to drink that much Dwarven fire water. He remembered how he had sat with Sam late into the night, laughing at his endless stories. He remembered their first drink after the long summer. There were so many memories, each one becoming more difficult to distinguish by the day.

“I see you got my letter,” Rosie smiled, her thick Hobbiton accent rolling vowels together.

“Yes, I did,” Frodo paused, unfolding the paper in his pocket, “You could have just said you wanted to meet. This was quite an… elaborate puzzle, Rosie.”

Frodo showed Rosie the letter. He had found it on his doorstep yesterday morning. A single piece of yellowing paper, with an almost illegible series of cursive lines.

“I’m sorry,” Rosie smiled, peering at the letter, “though you seemed to solve it just fine.”

“Evidently. The cypher was not too complicated,” Frodo felt pride rise by degrees in his chest, “people tend to just send invitations though.”

“See, my pa told me otherwise,” Rosie shrugged, “’ _Speak to folks in the way they know, Rosie Cotton_.’ You would talk to me straight, no doubt, but I would much rather you talk with me.”

“I see,” Frodo harrumphed, “what is it you want to talk to me about?”

“No need to cut the corn while it is still growing,” Rosie laughed, leading Frodo towards the bar, “come, I’ll get you a drink. You like a Tuckborough mead, is that right?”

“I… uh… yes, actually,” Frodo stammered, Rosie already half-way through pouring a pint of golden liquid, “I don’t have any coins on me, so I can’t…”

“Don’t be silly,” Rosie scolded, “I doubt you have plans to skip town any time soon. Plus I know when you live. Pay me next time you drop by. I think I will have one of the Brandybuck reds.”

Rosie finished pouring the drinks with professional elegance. She passed the mug to Frodo, and began to drink her wine. Frodo had become aware of how tense his shoulders were, and took a moment to try and gather his composure. He sipped the mead. The golden flavours of honey and barley filled his mouth, and he was suddenly a young hobbit again, dancing and laughing at one of Bilbo’s summer parties.

“Now Frodo, it has been a beautiful summer,” Rosie rested her arm on the bar, “yet I can likewise count on one hand the amount of times I’ve seen you make that walk from Bag End to the Bywater. I know you are as busy as they come, and quiet time is what you’ve needed, but I miss our conversations.”

Frodo fidgeted on his chair. He had a queer feeling coming on, the same feeling that he had when he talked to Gandalf.

“Rosie, listen, if this is about Sam…” Frodo began, before Rosie raised her finger.

“Now don’t you start with ‘Sam this, Sam that,’ master Frodo,” Rosie scolded, “I think there are enough things for us to discuss that don’t come back to Samwise Gamgee.”

Frodo paused, raised his hand, and paused again. Narrowing his eyes, he lifted the mug to his lips and took a deep drink.

“I see,” Frodo said, after a moment of thoughtful drinking, “Well, Miss Cotton, what is it that we should discuss?”

Rosie smiles and claps her hands together. “Only a game of chess, of course!” she exclaims, bounding around the bar to lead Frodo by the arm. She feels a shiver come over as she realises how thin Frodo’s arm has become. She has the distinct feeling a sharp turn will snap him in two. She slows her pace slightly, adjusting her hand from Frodo’s arm to his back. Subtle, mind, not enough for him he to notice. She has done this before.

Too surprised to object, Frodo’s pace quickens as they reach the table.

“Rosie, how did you…” Frodo trails off.

Rosie cocks her head to one side, and a broad grin erupts on her face. “Now, I’m not the most talented player,” she says, sitting on one side of the table, “but I’ve watched some of the old folks play a game or two, and I’ve always wanted to play a Baggins. My Pa used to say that your Bilbo once played three different games with three different hobbits, all at the same time, while drinking an entire cask of summer-brewed ale.”

“That sounds like Bilbo,” Frodo rolls his eyes, sitting opposite Rosie, “although, if I’m honest, he was likely swapping their pieces out when they looked away. Bilbo is a fine player, but he’s a better cheat.”

“Well that is simply the most shocking thing,” Rosie exclaims and makes her first move.

“A Baggins? Getting in over their head? Yes, truly shocking,” Frodo smirks, responding in kind.

They breeze through the opening moves. Rosie rests her elbows on the table, eyes focussing on the board. Frodo sat forward, frowning.

“Rosie, are you trying to use a Dwarven Death Trap?” he asked, an edge entering his voice that Rosie hadn’t heard in a long time.

“I’m unfamiliar with the names, Frodo,” Rosie shrugged, “I think I’ve seen someone make these moves before, and that seemed to work out just fine.”

“Yes, well, it is a very agressive opening gambit,” Frodo explained, promptly capturing Rosie’s ranger, “It is also quite obvious, and can be countered like so.”

Rosie yelped, her hands going to her cheeks in an expression of theatrical shock. Frodo laughed, and mimed imprisoning the ranger with his fingers. They both began to giggle, and returned to the game.

“Now, Merry told me this story a few weeks ago,” Rosie began, moving her Elven Lady into a far corner, “there was a human wedding you all went to, for a human king and his elf bride, where all those mighty tall folks turned and bowed to the four of you.”

“Mm? Yes, that happened,” Frodo murmured, lost in the game.

“Really? Good heavens above. Should we all be bowing to you likewise?”

“No, not at all. I’m sure Merry would love that. But no, please don’t.”

“I see,” Rosie frowned, stroking her chin, “perhaps that was a wedding custom. Menfolk can be strange.”

“You do what you want,” Frodo snapped.

Rosie pauses. She has shown her hand a bit early. This could be a problem.

“I’m sorry,” Frodo sighs, rubbing his temples, “I know about the proposal. Sam told me. Well. I made Sam tell me, because he can’t keep a secret to save his life.”

“That is mighty true,” Rosie smiles, happy to guide the conversation onto comfortable ground, “he has a pretty big tell, where his ears -“

“- go completely red,” Frodo smirks, “Did he tell you that Elrond caught him digging through a hundred year old wine cellar looking for hot chocolate?”

Rosie spits her drink across the table. “No, he kept that one to himself,” she chuckles, “did he tell you about the time his sisters found his diary, and read it to the entire family over dinner? Apparently he had written pages of love poems for Theo Bramblethorn.”

“Theo?” Frodo’s eyes grow wide, “ B-but, he’s… he’s awful!”

“That is Sam for you,” Rosie throws her hands up in mock surrender, “he’s loyal, even to a fault.”

“That he is,” Frodo sighs, “I guess you won in the end.”

“How so?” Rosie asks.

Frodo didn’t respond. Instead, he looked intently at the board, considering his next move. After a moment, he moved his fortress into the centre. Satisfied at his new advantage, he sat back in his chair.

Rosie looked at the board, considering her next move. A chill ran through the bar, and Rosie thought she heard the distant sound of horse hooves in the night.

“You’ve over-extended your defences,” Frodo murmured, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

Rosie frowned, looking at the board. There were too many pieces, each one able to do different things. She had even forgotten about her Lady, which could move…

“Aha!” Rosie exclaimed, and moved the Elven Lady across the board, capturing Frodo’s fortress.

Frodo bolted upright in his seat, staring at the board in complete disbelief. “Wait, that’s not… you are leaving your Lady open to…” he stammered, eyes flitting across the board, “no, that’s not right. If I retaliate you’ll be able to advance here, which will leave the Lord open to a right flank…”

“See, mister Frodo,” Rosie winked, “all I need is one good trick.”

Frodo chewed the end of his thumb. “Okay. It was unconventional. Not the end of the game. Let me think for a moment…”

A look crosses Frodo’s face that Rosie recognises. She is back in her Aunt’s home, tidying the kitchen after her latest episode. Her brothers are removing sharp objects from the cupboards. Her aunt is sat at the table, asking after the lovely lady helping with the dishes. She is gripping the edge of the sink, suddenly aware of the tears on her face. She sustains herself with a deep well of kindness. She wishes it was enough for everyone.

“Rosie, are you okay?” Frodo asked.

Rosie blinked and found tears in her eyes. She wiped them with the corners of her apron. “I’m sorry Frodo, my mind must be wandering.”

Frodo almost imperceptibly tilted his head. The candlelight gave his eyes a peculiar tinge, baby blue fading deep as the ocean, and beneath them a spark of orange.

“About the proposal,” Frodo said, absentmindedly fiddling with one of Rosie’s captured pieces. “I imagine this is what you wanted to speak to me about. While I appreciate it, I don’t think it is really necessary.”

Rosie paused. She felt the room balancing on a knife edge. “Is that what you think?” she asked.

“Yes,” Frodo said, his words sounding more distant than before.

“I don’t believe you.”

Frodo’s eyes snapped back to Rosie. She felt the weight of his gaze, and a danger deep inside of him. She touches her deep well of strength and holds his gaze.

“You’re holding me at a distance, Frodo,” Rosie said, balancing each word before she says it, “and it ain’t just me. You think this going to keep you safe. Perhaps it will. But don’t do me a disservice and believe I can’t see it.”

Frodo leaned back on the bench, his lips pursed. “Is that what you see?”

“Not just me,” Rosie says, “Sam sees it too.”

Silence. The two hobbits look into each others eyes. In an instant the battle was over. Frodo blinks, and looked down.

“I… I thought it would be better for him,” Frodo mumbles.

Rosie sees how small he is, how thin his fingers are, how unkempt his hair has become. She reaches forward, and places her hand on Frodo’s. “Sam is a good hobbit. He’s not the sharpest nail, true. But he can see you heart clear as he sees the morning.”

“He wants to go back to normal,” Frodo whispers, a strain at the edge of his throat, “he wants to have the Shire back. That’s all he ever wanted. It’s what I wanted too. But everything is different. You love him the way he wants.”

“Frodo, I love him the way I want,” Rosie pulls her hand back, and places them on her lap, “And I hold no wagon for this ‘who gets to love who’ questioning. I love Sam. Sam loves me. Sam loves you. You love Sam. That is the way it is and that is the way I will choose for it to be. No one is going to run out of love. But I want to speak with you, Frodo, because my life is tied to yours, and I can feel that there is something hurting in your heart. And if I can feel that, you better believe every star in heaven that Sam can feel it too.”

Silence. Frodo looked at Rosie. Rosie looks at Frodo. Both of them felt the closeness of two hearts, and the boundaries of fear and self-doubt fading like shadows.

“When I carried the ring,” Frodo gazed into the distance, “I didn’t know what I was feeling. I thought it was fear, at first. Sometimes it was anger. Sometimes it was jealousy. Looking back, I know what sits beneath all of it. I was in love with the ring. Maybe it made me love it, at first. But, in time, it was just me, loving it. It was… precious to me.”

Frodo sighed, his voice trembling. “When I got to Mordor, when it was destroyed, I felt so much relief. The love that I had for it was heavy, it was destroying me, and I was free at last. There was another feeling. The love I had for the ring was so total, so encompassing. I think I could have done anything for it. And when I burned it, I burned the love out of me as well.”

Frodo raised a hand to his eye to wipe away tears. Rosie passed him a small embroidered handkerchief.

“Thank you,” Rosie said, “for helping me understand.”

Frodo hated when people did that. Ever since returning from Mordor he listened to people explain how they understood what he was feeling. How they also struggled, and how similar they were. Yet, in that moment, in that tavern, he looked at Rosie and felt as if someone was truly seeing him.

Frodo looked down at the board. “I have completely forgotten where we were,” he paused, tapping his chin.

“Oh, I don’t know how this game ends,” Rosie confessed, a small flush of crimson passed across her cheeks, “I just figured it kept going until you lost all your pieces.”

“Wait, you don’t even know…” Frodo felt himself stammering, “No matter. Okay. You obviously have a fair bit of skill. How about you come to Bag End next weekend and we can cover the basics.”

“I would like that a great deal,” Rosie stood from the table and began to pack up the pieces.

Frodo paused, before leaning forward and grabbing Rosie’s wrist. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Oh, I think that mead has gone right to your head,” Rosie laughs.

“No, Rosie,” Frodo held on to her hand, looking into her eyes, “I think you might just be the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Rosie pauses, warmth rising in her cheeks. A veil lifts before her. She is stood beside a well in a forest with a thousand names. There is enough for everyone.

“You get home safe now, Mister Frodo,” Rosie planted a gentle kiss on Frodo’s forehead, before moving towards the bar to straighten up.

Frodo stood from the table. It would be too easy to say a weight had lifted. He stepped out of the Green Dragon. He breathed in and looked upwards. A host of stars unfurled before him, stretching out beyond the horizon. He felt the night air fill his lungs.

The Green Dragon tavern is a small town inn. You will see its lights dimmed in the darkness, as a cold wind sends shivers across the Bywater. There is frost on the ground, and a hobbit stands in the entrance. This hobbit will catch your gaze, and for a moment you will believe you can see his heart, as wide as the entire world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you nonbinaryhamlet for proofing this for me! I have been toying around with this idea for a Rosie Cotton fic for a while. This might be expanded into a further series of short stories featuring Rosie, as well as a series leading up to her wedding with Sam. I hope you like it! 
> 
> I was also toying with how to do the narration for this scene. I wanted to represent the inner lives of Frodo and Rosie as they spoke with each other, and decided to use a floating 3rd person narration. I've used present tense for Rosie's POV, and past tense for Frodo's POV. It is a bit of an experiment, and I'd be very interested to hear how people find it. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated. You can find me on Twitter at @AlexStoneWriter


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